


The Night Bus to Oxford

by glitterary



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene, you spend centuries pining for someone and then you just blurt it out on a bus one day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 16:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19136281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterary/pseuds/glitterary
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale take the bus back to London after a long day.





	The Night Bus to Oxford

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Susanwiththescythe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susanwiththescythe/pseuds/Susanwiththescythe) for her quick beta!

‘It burned down, remember?’

Crowley knew how much Aziraphale had loved his bookshop. The idea of him going back to the burned-out husk of his home was unbearable.

‘You can stay at my place. If you like.’

For one breathtaking moment, it looked like Aziraphale was going to say yes. But he faltered. ‘I—I don’t think my side would like that.’

Crowley's heart sank. ‘You don't have a side any more. Neither of us do. We're on our own side.’

He put out his hand for the bus.

 

About half an hour after they left Oxford, Aziraphale miracled a hot cup of coffee into the driver’s cupholder. Crowley miracled him an audiobook. The road and the story together occupied the driver's entire attention, allowing Aziraphale and Crowley to talk freely.

‘That was nice of you. Giving him something to listen to.’ Aziraphale was wearing the smug little smile he always wore when he thought he'd been proven right about Crowley.

Crowley shook his head. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘Not really. It’s Dan Brown.’

Aziraphale thought of the loud American tourists who took pictures of his bookshelves and asked him where the new paperbacks were on an almost-daily basis. He pulled a face.

Crowley grinned. ‘Could be worse. I could have made it Fifty Shades of Grey.’

‘I know you're responsible for that somehow,’ muttered Aziraphale.

‘Wasn’t me. Cross my heart and hope to die.’ Crowley paused. He looked out into the blackness outside the bus as they trundled slowly southwards. Another hour and a half, he thought, until they got to Waterloo. He could halve that easily, if he wanted to.

He didn't want to.

‘E-readers, now, those _were_ my idea.’

Aziraphale let out a huffy little laugh.

Crowley put his sunglasses back on and stretched his arm across the back of their seat.

 

After sitting in companionable silence for a while, Aziraphale piped up somewhere around High Wycombe.

‘How did you get rid of your lot, when they were following you?’

Crowley sniffed, trying to be nonchalant. ‘I used my demonly wiles.’

‘Oh come on, Crowley, you don't expect me to believe that, do you? They were on to both of us. They had pictures. I don't believe you just… turned into a bat, or whatever it is you do.’

‘I'm a bit more subtle than that. Give me some credit,’ protested Crowley.

‘You're avoiding the question.’

Aziraphale’s stern gaze prickled on Crowley's skin. He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I, ah. I used your thermos.’

‘ _Crowley!_ ’ Aziraphale went pale. He looked, actually, like he might be sick. ‘Of all the stupid—you could have killed yourself!’

‘I was careful!’

Aziraphale put his head in his hands. ‘You could have—I would have been responsible! If I’d known you’d be so _reckless_ —’

‘Hey, hey!’ Crowley felt his stomach drop. He gently grabbed the hand closest to him. ‘I'm fine! I used the holy water to escape Hastur and Ligur. You did the right thing, giving it to me.’ He took his sunglasses off. ‘Look at me.’

Aziraphale turned to him. To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale's eyes were wet. ‘I would have been—’ he lifted his head up and stared at Crowley. ‘I would have—I couldn’t have done any of this without you.’

Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand tightly. ‘I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.’

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. He squeezed Crowley's hand back, then let it slip out of his grasp again. He straightened his jacket. ‘Well, that settles it, then. I'm coming back to yours. I'm not letting you wander around your flat alone if it's dripping with holy water. It'll need a heavenly miracle to clean up, you won't be able to do it alone.’

He gave Crowley a nervously defiant look. Crowley held it. It was Aziraphale who looked away first—but his gaze dropped down to Crowley's hand, which he patted awkwardly before covering it with his own. The warmth of his touch spread all the way through Crowley’s body.

 

They crossed over the M25, which was miraculously both not on fire and completely uncharred. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, but a few lonely cars sped along beneath the overpass.

Aziraphale sat up in excitement, moving his hand. Crowley's skin felt suddenly cold. ‘Look at that! It's… it's fixed! It's how it was again!’

Crowley shook his head, leaning back into the seat. ‘It’s all changed, angel.’

Aziraphale winced and turned his head back from the window. ‘I’m not sure they're going to let me keep that label.’

Crowley felt anger flash through him. ‘You’re better than all of them. Gabriel, Michael, Uriel… Fuck the lot of them. They're the ones who—’ he broke off, unable to express how little he thought heaven deserved Aziraphale.

_Now or never, Crowley._

He took a deep breath and continued. ‘Anyway, I've been calling you that for centuries, and that hasn't been what I meant by it for at least the last four.’

Aziraphale stilled. ‘Oh. _Oh._ ’

‘Yes.’ Crowley’s heart thumped loud enough to provide the beat at an underground rave.

The angel—ex-angel, possibly—pursed his lips, trying and failing to keep a smile from breaking through.

‘Well, I suppose that's alright then.’ Aziraphale sat back and rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. ‘It's just a word, really.’

Crowley looked out the window, light-headed with his own daring and expecting fire and brimstone to come raining down any minute now. But there was just the dark London sky, and the familiar chain stores and advertising that punctuated the city streets. ‘It does feel like it's all been fixed, somehow.’

Aziraphale nuzzled into Crowley’s shoulder.

‘I'm still coming home with you.’

 

The bus drew up a few yards away from Crowley's building near Waterloo Bridge. The doors hissed open and the driver looked up, dazed.

‘Where am I?’

Crowley flashed him a grin and pulled a cheap tourist map out of his jacket. ‘London. There's a car park by the station, two minutes from here.’

‘And the Savoy’s just across the bridge. You should have plenty in your wallet to cover it,’ added Aziraphale as they dismounted.

The driver reached into his pocket. His whoop of delight at finding a dozen crisp hundred-pound notes in his wallet was cut short by the bus doors folding shut again. The engine rumbled and soon Aziraphale and Crowley were alone in the street, watching the taillights recede into the darkness.

For just a moment, London was quieter than it had ever been.

Crowley reached out to brush Aziraphale’s fingertips.

‘Angel. Tell me this isn't too fast for you.’

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed. He swallowed. ‘I think… I think it's about time, really.’

Aziraphale took a step towards Crowley. His fingers fidgeted with one of the buttons on the demon's shirt. ‘I think, perhaps—’

But Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s chin in his hand and tilted it just so, and after six thousand years, _six thousand and twenty-three bloody years_ , just like that, they were kissing. Crowley’s fingers curled into the hair at the base of Aziraphale's neck, and he felt the angel grabbing the expensive fabric of his jacket and pulling him deeper, deeper into the kiss.

Crowley opened his eyes as they drew apart. He would have sworn, at that moment, that Aziraphale shone brighter than all the heavenly hosts combined.

‘Let's go inside,’ he said. ‘I don't think we're done just yet.’

  



End file.
